


I'm Doing Better Than I Ever Was

by cpt_winniethepooh



Series: Reputation [2]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Artist Steve Rogers, BDSM, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Cooking, Dom Bucky Barnes, Domestic Fluff, Edging, Established Relationship, Healthy Relationships, Light Bondage, M/M, Metal Arm Kink, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Sappy Old Men, Songfic, Steve Rogers is a little shit, Sub Steve Rogers, Vibrators, Wakanda (Marvel), amanda the cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 17:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18371012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cpt_winniethepooh/pseuds/cpt_winniethepooh
Summary: Steve and Bucky spend their first Christmas together as a couple in a sunny farm on Wakanda.





	I'm Doing Better Than I Ever Was

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, [Lily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyPotteri), for the betaing and the cheerleading! <3 

"So you're not coming back for Christmas, huh?" Sam asked him.

"We're staying a little longer," Steve confirmed. "The weather's just way too nice here."

And it was, it really was: the first snow had fallen in New York, but Wakanda was bright and warm, the perfect place to sit outside and soak up the sunlight like the old, traumatized-by-cold men Steve and Bucky were.

"I'll have to mail your presents," Sam said jokingly. "Do they even deliver there?"

"They do," Steve confirmed. "I've ordered something already."

There was a beat of pause. "If you're just waiting for the punchline of telling me what kinky shit that is, Rogers, I swear—"

"It's just a canvas and some paints," Steve laughed heartily, and Sam huffed. Steve decided not to hold back. "After all we brought the kinky shit we need, no need to order."

Except, maybe, some candles — Bucky had suggested temperature play, and since they both had a strong aversion to cold, wax seemed the best option. But they didn’t want to go into that just yet.

"I hate you so much," Sam groaned. "And I'll hate you even more when you'll inevitably tell me that you're painting your boy, and not something actually beautiful, like, I don't know, the scenery of an insanely secretive and modern country they'll never let me in?"

Steve rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "...that may be the case," he said, moderately guiltily. But he made a mental note to at least send some more photos to Sam.

"Why is that not a surprise," and even through the line, Steve could _hear_ him rolling his eyes.

"In my defence," Steve said, "I also considered giving him a ring, but you know, I didn't want to do that before actually talking that through."

There was an even longer pause, now.

"You wanna ask him to marry you?" Sam asked.

"Maybe? Probably," Steve said, even though there was nothing conditional about that — he just didn't know how Sam would react. Or _Bucky,_  for that matter.

"Wow," Sam said. "You want to _talk_ to him first? Who are you and what have you done with the Steve Rogers I know?"

"I've been making progress," Steve protested.

"I know. And I'm not telling you that you're rushing it, because he's not been a bad example, but... you've only known him for half a year, Steve. And you haven't even lived together."

"We are living together now," Steve said. Already a huge weight had fallen from his chest — he'd been meaning to tell Sam for a while now. "But I agree, and that's why I'm waiting. I've just never... I never felt like this with anyone, Sam. I didn't even think it was possible."

"I'm happy for you," Sam said quietly. "And hey, it's your life — who am I to tell you what's best for you?"

"My best friend," Steve said instantly. "...and my best man, too, if it comes to that."

"Nice save," Sam said, but Steve heard the gratefulness in how his voice turned nasal. "Want help with the ring, too?"

"I'll probably go with vibranium," Steve said. "But only after I've talked to Bucky. Later. In the next year, I think."

"Okay, that's a good plan," Sam said. "You'll have to take care of the coming out, too."

A valid point, although Bucky had made himself a personal Twitter account, and posted a photo he took of a rainbow. Because of course he had. He and Steve planned to interact with each other online, openly, but slowly, to ease the world into coming out with their relationship — and Steve's sexuality too.

Steve sighed. "Yeah. But thank you, really, for everything."

"Don't stop visiting the vet forums," Sam said before they said their goodbyes.

  


Steve had never been good at asking for help, which was putting it mildly. He had always been too proud for his own good, and too set out on showing that he could do everything on his own. But even in just half a year, he learned so much from Bucky: that asking for and accepting help was not a sign of weakness, on the contrary. Sometimes it was harder, and braver, than trying to manage alone.

So he had asked Aneka to help get his order delivered to him without Bucky noticing, and then he turned to Shuri to keep Bucky distracted for a whole day. He could've done them on his own, if he really wanted to: Bucky would've understood if Steve asked to be alone, but Steve wanted to practice being better at this whole getting help thing.

Shuri laughed at his awkwardness, but assured him that she'd find something for Bucky to do that didn't require for Steve to hold his hand, like he had while his new Vibranium arm was being installed. And when Bucky was away, Aneka brought his package over.

"New equipment for your bed?" Aneka asked him.

Steve blinked twice before he realized that Bucky had gotten the reinforced handcuffs from her.

The handcuffs they used to tie Steve to the bed while they were having sex.

Steve almost tripped over his own feet as he felt his blush spreading, and Aneka laughed.

"Don't worry, there's nothing to be ashamed of," she said, and put the box down to the kitchen table.

"It's actually, um, a canvas and paints," Steve said. "For Bucky's Christmas present."

"You'll paint for him?"

"Yeah," Steve said, and rubbed his neck.

It wasn't what he had originally planned — a quiet getaway, probably at one of Tony’s weekend houses — but it would be more fitting, now that he was familiar with Bucky's history with the Red Room and with Wakanda.

Aneka smiled again. "Princess Shuri was right, you are just as bad as the King and Sister Nakia."

"I just want to give him something meaningful," Steve said.

"I'll let you know when he's about to come home, so you'll have time to hide everything," Aneka promised, and left Steve alone.

  
  


He set up his easel in the living room, since that had the best light during the day. He covered the floor in a layer of protective paper to prevent paint drops, to Amanda’s absolute joy: the cat played with the new addition like a kitten, rolling around and pawing at the edges carelessly.

He began working with his pencil first. He didn't need to use reference photos: he knew what he was painting like the back of his hand.

He only ordered two colors to come with the rest of his painting set, and after he was done with the outline, he reached for the black paint.

It was mid-morning, but the bright sunlight glistened on the wet acrylic, and time stopped like it sometimes did when he was painting. Although his preferred medium was a pencil with a notebook when it came to figures, and he  mostly painted abstracts to canvases, there was something real, something cathartic about what he was doing now.

Art was a way to express himself when he couldn't any other way, when words failed him and when he couldn't even open his mouth, and he was uncovering a deep truth of the universe with his paintbrush.

He used the deepest, most opaque black to contour, and then diluted it to a barely grey, a washed-out, watercolor-like substance to shade with. But he did not shade the figure like he would've if he wanted to make it realistic. His inclination to the non-concrete took over, redirected his hand from realism, and gave the figure an ethereal, ghost-like quality.

Then he rummaged around for his other color, and this, _this_ was something special. It was gold, quite literally so: fine metallic pigments tainting the base, dense and bright, covering the black smudges on his fingers in sparkles.

Steve picked a smaller, finer brush, and dipped it in the gold. This paint was so thick that it covered the black in just one layer, and so Steve went over certain parts of the body with the finest touch. He wanted to underline what he saw as important, elemental, in a way that showcased how he _felt._

He thickened some lines, made them almost as wide as the black outline, but never watered the gold down. He needed it to shine, to not only reflect the bright Wakandan Sun, but also light up the painting itself. He used the black and the grey to create shadows, on and behind the figure, to make it seem like he was coming out from a dark fog to bring clarity.

Steve stood back, feeling like he was taking the first deep breath in hours, and considered his work.

After a few correcting touches here and there, he was as satisfied as he knew he could be. It was well into the afternoon, and Steve had no idea how long Bucky would be away — plus he had forgotten to eat.

He jumped into the shower to scrub himself clean of the dried paints that somehow got not only onto his skin and under his fingernails, but also into his hair, and then he assembled a sandwich while his hair was still wet. Sandwich in left hand, he added some last-minute touches to the painting, then cleaned his brushes and put everything away apart from the canvas. By then, Amanda was asleep on the couch, curled into a bun, and Steve was tempted to follow her lead.

When Aneka called him an hour later to let him know that Bucky was on his way, Steve covered the now-dry painting with some butcher's paper, and gave it to Aneka for protection just before Bucky's hovercraft showed up on the horizon.

  


They didn't really decorate their house for Christmas: they didn't feel the need, and also, Wakanda didn't have a wide selection of HO-HO-HOing Santas and gaudy plastic reindeers. But Bucky obtained a small, potted pine tree from the locals.

"If we have presents, we should have something to put them under," he declared, and put the tree on top of the coffee table. Even with the added height, it didn't reach up to Steve's hip.

"Won't Amanda try to eat it?"

"Hope not," Bucky said, suddenly doubtful.

But Amanda left the tree alone after a few distrustful sniffs, so that was one less thing to worry about.

"Shuri gave me some fairy lights, so we could put those up," Bucky said, and soon the tree was lit — and it became the brightest source of light in the room.

"I don't think she knows what laid back means," Steve grinned, but the little tree fit perfectly with where they were.

  


Neither of them were in the _mood_ for the holiday, and the warm, summer weather didn't help their case. But come the 24th of December, Bucky kicked the Christmas plan into motion. Steve helped him peel and chop and stir in the kitchen, but even with their superhuman staminas, he couldn't imagine when they'd put away the huge amounts of food Bucky was planning to make.

"Are we inviting someone over?"

"On the contrary," Bucky said. He wiped his hands on his apron; the black one had flour marks all over it. "I don't want to cook tomorrow. Or the day after."

"Then what'cha want to do?" Steve asked, with a good — and hopeful — guess for an answer.

"Tomorrow I'd like to tie you to the bed and fuck you so hard you can't walk the day after," Bucky said conversationally, and Steve almost dropped his bowl. He caught it the last second, but the loud clatter was hard to miss. "If you don't have anything else planned," Bucky went on innocently.

"You," Steve said.

"Yes?" Bucky's blue eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Are the best thing to happen to me," Steve finished, and was glad to see how Bucky blushed.

"And you are a little shit," he replied, but he smiled when Steve kissed his cheek.

Bucky was a wonderful cook, and Steve helped him gladly. They used a variety of local ingredients as well as local methods: temperatures, stirring techniques, compositions that Steve never could've imagined. Then again, he wasn't renowned for his kitchen prowess.

Spending all day cooking was just as tiring as if they had been tending to the farm, and lasted even longer, too. The last batch of fruit cakes were still in the oven when the Sun was setting, and by then they usually were taking a walk or reading or playing cards. Bucky's hair was a sweaty, bushy mess, and Steve's was full of egg yolk after an unfortunate accident with a mixer, and Amanda began indignantly meowing in the bedroom where she'd been banished to, too.

"I think we're done," Bucky said as he pulled the tray out of the owen. He used his apron to wipe his face, but he just smeared some batter there, too. "Aw, fuck."

"I wish, but not when we both look like this."

"You'll never get tired of that joke, huh?"

"Probably not," Steve said. "Shall I feed the beast while you take a shower?"

"We're not doing anything strenuous tonight," Bucky warned him, and began searching for Amanda's food.

"I think I can persuade you otherwise," Steve said.

"You could," Bucky agreed. He tossed some chopped up meat into a frying pan with vegetables, and glanced at Steve. "But I have something in mind that requires our stamina."

"That doesn't mean anything for _tonight_ ," Steve leaned to the counter in what he hoped was suggestive.

Bucky looked at him fondly. "Half the pleasure is in the wait, haven't you heard?"

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"I'll prove it to you," Bucky promised.

 

They were spooning together in bed, Amanda at their feet and the food safely tucked away in the fridge, when Bucky elaborated.

"We should discuss tomorrow," he said.

"I'm all for you fucking me into next Thursday," Steve kissed his metal knuckles.

"Good, so am I — but I thought I could show you the virtue of patience."

"That sounds like something I should learn, yeah. What did you have in mind?"

“How about overstimulation — or at least, sensation play — and orgasm control? And light bondage, of course — I want to tie you down."

Steve's heart picked up rhythm.

They had done a ton of research on BDSM, both online and just by talking through what their preferences were. They both loved rough, but not painfully rough: Bucky restraining Steve down by the chest was marvelous, but any closer to his windpipes and terrible memories of asthma soured the experience. And Bucky (even accidentally) inflicting pain on Steve brought back his mind-controlled days of the Red Room, so they didn't have a wide window to play in.

With all their baggage considered, orgasm denial was the closest they came to... torture.

He was still uncertain about the terminology.

But at least they had a bed that could take the strain, fully equipped with bedposts.

"I like the sound of that," Steve said.

"Any preferences?" Bucky asked.

"The usual," Steve said, meaning that he absolutely _hated_ if Bucky wasn't touching him at least with one hand. Preferably both. All over.

"Position?" Bucky asked.

"Looking at you," Steve said.

They planned on playing with blindfolds, to enhance non-visual sensations, but so far Steve drank in Bucky's face like a man dying of thirst.

Bucky burrowed into his embrace even more at hearing that.

"On your back, then, unless you change your mind in the morning," he whispered lazily, and Steve knew that he was mentally planning the scene already.

"I'll let you know if I do," Steve said, kissing his temple.

 

Steve applauded Bucky's foresight the next morning, because they just reheated what they had made the previous day for breakfast instead of making something fresh. Good thing, too — Steve was buzzing with anticipation and wouldn’t have had the patience for more.

Maybe he really could learn some.

But then he was naked and on his back, and Bucky was leaning over him.

"You with me?"

"Yeah. We're good."

"Alright," and Bucky cuffed his limbs to the bedposts, then kissed him fully.

Steve had thought that being tied down would feel less significant, less impactful with time, but the force of the experience just did not fade. It was as if a wave crashed into him to take his breath each time, and yet he felt secure as long as he felt Bucky's hands on him.

The left hand, the new black and gold vibranium, was even more delicate than the previous silver one. The plates joined so flawlessly that they barely left any mark on Steve's pale skin. But it suited Bucky much better: elegant and dark, but laced with gold, just like the sparks Steve felt whenever Bucky kissed him.

And kiss him Bucky did, languid and unhurried to ground Steve in the present.

Steve opened up under his mouth, let Bucky's tongue explore his, let Bucky dictate and let himself be lead. Bucky would take him high, Bucky would take care of him.

Then Bucky sat back and pushed his hair behind his ear to look down on Steve.

"Restraints?" He asked huskily.

Steve tested them, and the cuffs and bedposts held steadily. "Perfect," he said.

His smile was also golden, Steve thought, when Bucky leaned down again for another kiss. He laid beside Steve and caressed his face, then his hands travelled down his body, mapping out the familiar shape, and Steve's vision was filled with the endless blue of Bucky's eyes.

"You submit so beautifully," Bucky whispered to him.

A proud blush bloomed on Steve's cheeks, but Bucky just kissed the corner of his mouth again before he drew his flesh hand away, and when it came between Steve's legs, he felt the cold wetness of the lube on them.

His body was used to this, and the first finger slipped in smoothly. Steve arched up, but the restraints held him back, and so did Bucky's left arm, placed squarely on his chest while his right teased and played with him.

Molded him into something new.

It didn't take long to coax Steve's half-hard cock fully up, and he expected Bucky to climb between his legs and push inside, but Bucky was in no rush to do so. He pulled his finger out and pushed it inside, crooked it slightly, and Steve was soon sweating and writhing on the sheets as he tried to get closer, to get _more._ But he was held down even without most of Bucky's weight, and when he keened in desperation, Bucky's answer was sucking a hickey onto his nipple.

"Are you close yet?" Bucky asked.

"Ngh," Steve said.

"Good," Bucky said, and Steve exhaled.

Bucky drew his right hand back, leaving Steve empty, open, _vulnerable_ even after just one finger. Steve keened again, already missing Bucky's blue eyes as Bucky was searching for something in the drawer, but Bucky shushed him.

"Shh, I'm here." And he was, and Steve ached to feel his hands again. "You are doing so well, Stevie, you are."

Steve's eyes fluttered, and when he opened them again, Bucky was between his legs. With something in his hand.

"This may feel big," he warned.

It was the vibrating dildo Bucky preferred in the bathtub — it had never been in Steve before.

Steve tensed as it was positioned to his rim, and the first inch burned despite the heavy coating of lube. Bucky scrambled closer to him, and put his left hand back to Steve's collarbone.

"You can do it," Bucky whispered to him. Steve nodded and took a deep breath, and after the confirmation, Bucky began pushing the toy inside.

The unfamiliar burn pulled Steve down from his blessed high: he hadn't had a toy inside for a while. The rubbery shape was unyielding and firm, and somewhat unpleasant — but it warmed up quickly, and his body opened up for it. Bucky went in slowly, cataloguing Steve's every reaction to know when to rest and when to push forward. And soon it was all in, and Steve was breathing heavily, and he wasn't in pain but it was a _lot—_

"Good boy," Bucky praised, then turned it on.

Steve jerked with a shout, but the restraints kept him in place, and Bucky giggled at him.

"Jerk," Steve breathed when his heartbeat was under control again, and Bucky smirked.

"You love it," he countered, and Steve did: the slow, steady rhythm of the vibrations traveled under his skin, set his insides aflame and curled his toes, all of them plainly visible for Bucky.

Not only was Bucky very good at reading people, but they had researched and experimented and talked, together, and Bucky became an expert at knowing what _Steve_ loved.

The hand was still on his chest, but with less weight and more as a reminder as Bucky began slowly moving the vibrator. He wasn't thrusting, just angling it slowly, and the gentle pleasure began building in Steve's abdomen.

When it brushed his prostate, he yanked at his cuffs violently, but everything held, and Bucky's smile increased.

"Oh, God," Steve moaned.

"Mhm," Bucky hummed, and repeated the motion. "Tell me when you're close."

It did not take long. Bucky was a master at aiming well, and every one of his movements hit home. Steve was leaking precome in no time at all, and his hair stuck to his forehead as sweat broke out on his skin.

"I'm," he said, then swallowed. "I'm close."

"Good," Bucky brushed his hair out, and turned the vibrator off.

Steve's chest was heaving as the phantom vibrations still travelled through his body, and he let his head fall deeper into the pillows. Bucky surged up to him and kissed him in a way that stood in sharp contrast with the hot, demanding heat of the moment, and Steve whined.

Bucky didn't move the vibrator, but Steve kept involuntarily clenching around it. _God,_ but he wanted it deeper, faster, _more..._

"Bu-uck," Steve moaned.

"I know, honey," Bucky said, and kissed him again, even slower.

Steve didn't forget about his erection, but Bucky's mouth definitely took over most of his thoughts. Bucky was a wizard, truly; there was no other explanation as to how he could make Steve go from zero to fully ready for action, or indeed, that but backward, with nothing but his lips and tongue.

And then, when Steve's heartbeat just returned close to normal and he was able to ignore the vibrator still inside and focus on blue, blue eyes, Bucky switched the thing on again.

Their bed in New York would have broken from the force of Steve jerking his limbs.

Bucky was unrelenting as he moved the vibrator in and out again, hitting his prostate each time, and sending Steve up into a world of golden sparks. Steve's cock was red and leaking already, and he wanted those hands on him, around him, anything to release the tension—

"Not until I say so," Bucky whispered, reading his mind, or maybe Steve was talking aloud.

"Please," Steve said brokenly. "Please..."

"Not yet," and after a few more thrusts Bucky turned the vibrator off, left it in, and began kissing Steve slowly.

Somewhere in the process Steve lost most of his senses. He couldn't have said how much time has passed, but it felt like an eternity. He couldn't see the lights outside, or inside, for that matter; only a certain, cloudy shade of blue that was his whole world.

He was too hot and too cold at the same time; he was shivering, but his skin burned under layers of sweat. The cuffs cut into his wrists, and pain blurred with pleasure: the pleasure of Bucky's lips on him, and the dildo periodically vibrating in him. He was sent into overdrive and then wound down again, only for it to start all over. He had no idea how many times Bucky got him close to the edge only to pull him back.

His mind became blank, white static. He existed on the perpetual edge of release, but he wasn't allowed to reach it, anf after a while, it didn't matter — he was molded under Bucky's hand, and Bucky's hands were all that mattered.

And then, once, Bucky turned the vibrator off and pulled it out.

Steve whimpered in protest.

"Shh, baby," Bucky said. "It's almost over."

Steve didn't want it to be over — he very much wanted it to go on forever. Wherever he was, whoever he was, he was _happy_ here—

Bucky climbed onto him, again put his metal hand on Steve's chest, and sank down on Steve's cock.

Steve cried out— it was too much, he wasn't gonna— he was gonna—

"Not until I allow it," Bucky warned him in an uncharacteristically shaky voice, and Steve swallowed, and concentrated on his own nails digging into his palms. But he was good, he could be good for Bucky, he could do this—

Bucky began rocking back and forth, and Steve let go of his last bit of self-control. He thrust up as much as he could, and Bucky didn't seem to mind. He was moaning loudly, though he couldn't hear anything that wasn't Bucky's broken praises and compliments, and he basked in the glow. The warm metal seemed to reach through his skin, his flesh, his ribs, and circle his heart — but Bucky held it protectively, like the most fragile and vulnerable thing ever, and it fluttered—

Bucky came with a particularly forceful roll of his hips and a shout, and collapsed onto Steve's chest. He was breathing heavily, and Steve's heart raced with him.

Then Bucky blinked up at him through the sweat and his hair, and croaked, "Come for me," and Steve, still pinned under him, obeyed.

 

He woke up hours later, untied but in still sticky sheets, to Amanda purring at his side. He twitched, and so did Bucky, waking slowly.

"How're you?" he slurred.

Steve was sore, like after a good workout: a nice reminder, something to cherish. "At peace," he said, and couldn't keep the smile off of his face.

Bucky's smile mirrored his own. "Merry Christmas," he murmured.

Steve leaned in to kiss him lazily. "Merry Christmas," he replied.

 

They managed to get themselves together by the time the Sun was on the way down, tinting their bedroom a warm, fiery orange. After a quick shower they got rid of the sheets and heated up the leftovers, and Steve was hit by the knowledge that Bucky had planned this, all of this.

"Thank you," he said, heartfelt.

Bucky stared at him in the middle of setting the table, then he smiled bashfully. "You're welcome," he said softly. "We could talk about the specifics? What to repeat, what to avoid?" he offered, just as always.

"I was completely taken out of my body," Steve said. "It was... everything. Intense, but amazing."

Bucky nodded. "I didn't want it to be painful."

"It wasn't. It was _so good._ How about you?"

Bucky's smile turned into a grin. "I never knew I could cause so much pleasure, but you shouted it loud enough for me to believe it, so..."

Steve blushed, but Bucky stepped close to nuzzle him. "So thank you," Bucky went on.

"It was your doing," Steve protested.

"It was _our_ doing," Bucky corrected him.

 

After dinner, they agreed to exchange presents. Steve's afterglow still lingered, but he was back to himself enough to appreciate whatever Bucky got for him — and the reaction his gift would get from Bucky.

Steve's painting was still in the brown paper, but it was under the coffee table in the living room, effectively (and indirectly) under the Christmas tree, too. Bucky's present was in a small rectangular box, neatly wrapped, with one end of the bow on top slightly chewed up: the work of an overzealous Amanda.

Steve pulled the bigger package out first, and gave it to Bucky.

Bucky's eyes widened at the size, but he quickly concluded what it could be, because he sat and peeled the paper away carefully and almost reverently.

His jaw dropped when he saw the painting peak out, and his hand shook as he got rid of the last of the covering.

"Steve..." he whispered.

The figure on the paper had golden irises shining brightly. His left hand had gold outlining his muscles and veins, and gold dripping down from his fingers to pool on the ground. His heart was completely made out of gold, and it pulsed in the grey and black of his ribcage, and lit up the way ahead of him. Behind him, shadows twirled in the distance, but his path was clear as he made his way towards the viewer, facing directly ahead. Even his footprints had a golden dust to them, and were left untouched by the darkness.

"I painted how I see you," Steve said softly. "You are the brightest, kindest—"

" _Steve_ ," Bucky said in a nasal voice.

"—best person I know," Steve finished. "You are good, and you keep on making me better."

Bucky wiped his eyes, and when he looked at Steve, his rims were red. "I feel the same way," he whispered.

"I know," Steve said, and Bucky put the painting carefully aside to plaster himself to Steve's side and burrow under his arm.

"Now I feel ridiculous about my gift," he said after a few moments.

 _You are a gift,_ Steve didn't say because he was aware that they were way too cheesy already.

"Show me?" He asked, and Bucky placed the square package, wrapped in blue and gold, into his hands.

It was neatly, perfectly wrapped: not a wrinkle and not a fold out of place, apart from the marks of Amanda's teeth. Inside was a small, velvety box, also made of blue, and Steve recognized it instantly as something you put jewelry — mostly necklaces — in.

He opened the lid, and sure enough: it was a silver ballchain with two tags on it.

One Steve was familiar with: he had the exact same one, made by SHIELD, containing his serial number, his name and blood type. But this was Bucky's, with his full name, James Buchanan Barnes, and with his details.

The other was printed with cyrillic characters, and Steve could only read the number — starting with 32 — but that in itself was a telling enough: they had been Bucky's in Russia.

He ran his fingers on the embossed letters.

"I want to ask you to be listed as my next of kin," Bucky said anxiously. "I... I have no better way of saying I belong to you. Fully. Past, present, _everything_."

Steve looked up at Bucky, and only hesitated a second before he said, "And future, too?"

"How do you mean? Yes, sure, but—"

"I don't have rings," Steve said, and he clutched at the tags desperately. "I didn't— I wanted to, I just—"

"Yes," Bucky said, and it took an embarrassingly long moment for Steve to get it. "Yes, of course— that is, if you—"

"Yes!" Steve said, and Bucky jumped at him and laughed into their next kiss.

"I wanted to wait for the perfect moment," Steve said, when they broke apart for air. "And have rings."

"I think you have," Bucky said, and lifted the chain to put it around Steve's neck. It reached below his hemline, and the tags fell right above his heart, where Bucky's hand belonged. "I suddenly think this wasn't such a bad idea after all."

"I think it was a great idea," Steve said, and he couldn't help it: he lifted Bucky and spun him around, laughing.

Amanda disappeared under the couch with a panicked scramble, and they both laughed, a bit ashamed.

"I love you," Bucky said.

Steve thought that words couldn't express what he felt about Bucky — love, sure, but _more._ So much more. And then he realized he didn't have to worry about that: they showed their feelings well enough. By protecting each other during missions, by supporting each other after a breakdown, by how they worked together during a scene; by Steve's painting and Bucky's necklace, they knew how they felt.

Saying it outright was a formality, but a needed, welcomed one.

"I love you too."

  


**Author's Note:**

> Behold, a Christmas fic in April, because of course.  
> When I was thinking about their Christmas this popped into mind, and since a lot of you asked for a sequel I was like, well, why not write it down?
> 
> I DID NOT EXPECT STEVE TO PROPOSE. THAT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN. He was, as he said in the beginning to Sam, supposed to wait and talk and later, like, a LOT later propose. I am unbelievably mad at him right now. Which is why I didn't ask Star to beta it; I was afraid I'd delete the whole thing if I had to wait and read it over.
> 
> But at least I got to use one of my fave lyrics :)
> 
> If I ever write something else for this series, which, at this point, is highly unlikely, it will NOT be about a probable wedding. I have written more than enough engagemens and weddings and parties for my [Changes](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1005720) fic, and never again, thank you. On the other hand, who knows what Taylor's next album might do to me... 
> 
> ANYWAY, I'm on [tumblr](http://cpt-winniethepooh.tumblr.com/), come and say hi if you want <3


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